Brotherhood of Gore
by MasteroftheVigil
Summary: Follows Khorne berserkers that are based on the Blood Pact. In that they form a cohesive fighting unit while still following Khorne.


The taste of battle was tantalizing to him. It was an insatiable appetite that could never be fully filled. Every soiree into battle was if it was his first, his most precious moment, where he truly felt alive, unlike those that stood before him and the Brotherhood of Gore. His enhanced physiology and chaotic corruption amplified the thirst of battle, the thirst of blood. He wanted bloodshed, he wanted battle, and he wanted to be swept with the tides of death. He wanted feel the cold embrace of death, and then smash its face with Reckless Abandonment, his chainaxe. The court yard was a massive piece of real estate, like all Imperial Governors, they splurged on Imperial expenses, and their worthless lives as if it was nothing. Massive statues celebrating the corruption of the fools and his retinue, gardens replicating the color spectrum, gaudy and pretentious.  
Bastard he was. Of course these opinions didn't matter to 'Gorefist' or his brothers; the only thing they cared for was the bastards head rolling about in the sea of blood that was soon to awash this planet. The massive mansion was magnificent, large stained glass windows embedded in large archways with intricate masonry work skirted around the windows. A massive door wooden door with numerous names scribbled on it in gold, probably the family tree. Above the door way was a balcony with vines winding about. With blotches of red and purple intermingled with the green. Minarets stood proud and tall, banners of the glorious achievements of the birth Imperial Regiment the have earned in numerous years of conquest for their dying corpse of an Emperor. Fools. A massive domed ceiling was in the center of it all. Like the windows, it was stained glass with depictions of the Emperor unleashing his godly prowess.

The first to die were the menials. Workers doing their daily duties: gardening and rituals in the name of their corpse god. The birds stopped chirping when the first skull was squashed with gauntleted hands. Bodies snapped and were torn asunder, their blood raining down upon the armor of the Brotherhood. 'Gorefist', was in full predatory lope when his enhanced vision spotted a man with pruning shears. He did not stop, he ran into him, like a force of a hurricane upon a wooden house. The man exploded from the impact, meat pattered upon 'Gorefists' armor and laughed. Globules rolled down his armor. He looked for more prey, his hearing and vision hunted, looking and hearing for any target. But none came; the sudden attack annihilated the menials. No resistance, only slaughter.  
Reckless Abandonment revved to life, rotten meat crunched fell to the ground while dried blood darkened the blur of chain teeth. 'Gorefist' looked around, his brothers standing or in a feral crouch, jarring incoherent ramblings' of slaughter and carnage. He too, was anticipating the murder of the innocent, the butchery of the man that led his world into oblivion. 'Gorehate', with his twin chainswords grasped in both hands rocked back and forth, waiting to be unleashed like a rabid dog upon prey. By this time, alarms were blaring, and the thundering of booted feet could be heard behind the doors. Resistance, he thought. Under his reddened skull helm, he smiled. 'Take carnage squad to the left and unleash yourselves upon the prey in the upper floors,' he voxed to 'Goregate', his chainaxe lolling in his hand. ''Gorefiend, take slaughter squad to your right and sweep the lower floors with their shredded bodies. Leave none alive.' 'Gorefist' wanted the head of the beast; he wanted the governors corpse draped upon his armor, his head wrapped pierced with chains to dangle from his chest. 'Attack!' he roared. And the wooden door splintered upon the impact of his armored boot.

A tsunami of metal beasts barged into the lavishly decorated room: Paintings of past governors lined the walls, antique chairs and tables dotted the room, while minuscule soldiers shook with fear. Chainaxes and chainswords swung in the fear ridden air and cut down trooper after trooper. 'Gorefist' backhanded an unlucky trooper when he got too close, his body flew through the air and crashed into the wall, his body didn't move. He swung on the balls of heels and lowered Reckless Abandonment, cutting down droves of unlucky troopers. Viscera littered floor and the small of iron wafted about. 'Goregate' and 'Gorefiend' steamrolled to their designated objective, boots mangling the herds of prey as if they were bugs. Glorious. 'Gorefist' looked on as 'Gorehate' grabbed a running trooper and used him a club, his arms and flailing as they contacted other troopers.  
Blood spraying and bones crunching and splinter, in themselves becoming shrapnel and slicing down a few. To his right was the stairs leading to the sub-manor, a luxury suite for the rich and powerful of the world to come and visit, and today was an unlucky day for those who say back in their leather bound chairs, for death has arrived. Las-bolts punctured and ricocheted off of his armor, leaving smoking scorch marks. Behind him a fellow warriors collapsed as a lucky strike punctured his gorget. 'Attack!' he roared again, and high arched the chainaxe down upon a trooper, whom didn't notice the massive beast next to him. He was crouched behind a blood drenched armchair, crying and taking potshots when he wasn't crying like a coward. 'Today you die and become a sacrifice for Khorne!'  
He tried to dive away from the chainaxe, but was too late. The weapon struck his left leg and sawed it off. Sparks flew as struck the metal floor. Yet he tried to crawl, leaving his amputated leg behind. 'Gorefist' laughed and brought down another devastating strike, cleaving off his right leg. He screamed in pain and sorrow. Not relishing the moment, 'Gorefist' was done with this pile of worthless meat and brought the chainaxe, on top speed, vertically up the laying corpse.  
Blood sprayed his helm, obscuring his visor. The body split apart in a pool of viscera. Not a single guard was left standing, the hallway and rooms was filled with an ocean of blood. Shredded meat painted walls and ceilings like the paintings before the slaughter ensued. But the battle wasn't over yet, the cacophony of slaughter still raged above and below him. The screams of the dying and soon to be dead were music to him, a symphony only a psychopathic monster could love. 'Report,' he said, removing a piece of metal jamming the teeth of his chainaxe. 'Glorious, my lord. Weak resistance. But the blood flows like the tides on Gorgthy,' 'Gorehate' replied, sounds of blade impacting some sort of dense piece deafened vox reply. ''Gorefiend', how about on your end?'  
Seconds pass before a voice answered, 'we're mopping up. Stragglers hiding like vermin. We will root them out and slice their skin upon our blades.'  
He strode down the hallway, staring at what these humans adorned their trifling lives. Paintings, valuable pieces of wood that did nothing but bring comfort to the lazy, how is that what people live for? Why value inconsequential paraphernalia? In the end he didn't really care, the only thing was built to do what kill for the sake of killing. To bring pain and suffering to those that were consequential for the benediction of Khorne. The hallway he stood in was stifling; behind the visor his eyes followed a trail of blood, memorized by this he tracked. He moved further until he ended far from the raging battle. His squad, Rancor, guarded the rear and moved to hold position in the front of the mansion; no survivors will wander into safety. He looked up and saw that he was in the Dome Room, below him, beautiful crated lattice metalwork's grated the floor, and below him was a pit.  
The Domed room was that of a hexagon, with bannered rib work that held up the pictorialization of the corpse Emperor. The sun blazed down upon it, throwing variegation upon him. In-between the ribs were balconies, like everything was bannered with Imperial Gothic. From above, the colors, like a hologram jumped and moved like some holofilm on replay. The blood trail sunk into the lattice work and dropped below into the pit. Drip drip drip was the only return. He wandered around the room and saw an intricate mirror. His massive form didn't fit, but what did show, hit him like fist. He stared into the reflection with his dark eyes: flayed skin cape fluttered by the updraft from the pit mere feet away, fresh and old skulls dangled and banged into each other, and his armor radiated a glow he never saw before. Forged wrought work from the days when he was a loyal servant of the Imperium still shined and permeated in the eyes of his victims, he smiled and let out a chuckle.  
He removed his skull helm. And bend down to look into the abyss of himself. His jet black hair was shaven low, his wide set black eyes, eyes of a predator that could kill or maim anything stared dead at the man that stood before it, if you can call a Traitor Astartes a man. Scars crisscrossed his face, from many battle, one particular one below his left eye was from an ork on Cersnu IX. He wore it with pride, not many could say he survived an ork blade to the face and tell the tale. 'My lord?' a voice behind him called out, called out. It was 'Gorefiend'.  
'What is it?' he replied, while putting his helm back on. He turned and viewed his fellow brother, he was dripping with fresh blood for the hunt, and a fresh skull swayed with every movement he made. 'The upper floor is secured, all vermin exterminated. The flood flows illustriously. However, the bottom floor gives us heavy resistance – we weren't able to penetrate the inner sanctum. We will be honored if you do the honor, my lord.'  
'Gorefist' chuckled at the thought that his men ran into resistance by mere men. He knew they wanted their lord to gain the glory of Khorne, who has given him the strength and power to overcome any obstacle. To his men, he was the chosen one, the champion of the God of Blood. 'It would be my honor, 'Gorefeind'. '

The spiral staircase was adorned with metal wrought in to the shapes of roses, elegant, yet unnecessary, for it was too dark and the lumin-globes that hung from the mold encrusted ceiling did nothing but make the feeling of running your hands down a metal guardrail awkward. 'Gorefist' felt none of it; he rampaged his way down the tacky way. He was at top speed, his double hearts thumping like pistons in a ground car. Kill, kill, kill, he thought. A sudden voice stopped his tirade down the staircase, 'halt, traitorous beast. You step foot on an Imperial world that looks down upon your wretched beliefs. You have been warned, turn back, or feel the wrath of the God-Emperor.'  
The voice was shaky and wavering. 'Gorefist' laughed at the thought. 'Your God-Emperor is a rotting corpse. You have no savior coming to your rescue; your world is mine and that of the Brotherhood.'


End file.
